


Clockwork

by Colaris



Category: Batman: Arkham - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, NSFW, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:01:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27744901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colaris/pseuds/Colaris
Summary: Life can be kinda beautiful, if you take a closer look on it. //Scriddler, Smut, NSFW.
Relationships: Jonathan Crane & Edward Nygma
Kudos: 4
Collections: A crow finds a riddle in the dark





	Clockwork

Looked at soberly, life was actually comparable to a gigantic clockwork. Every cog, no matter how small it may be, had to work smoothly in order to maintain the steady rhythm and not risk a deviation in the timing. Jonathan frowned a bit, but then pulled up the corners of his mouth slowly. He leaned forward over his desk and wrote this new thought on the paper, carefully studying the multitude of lines on the sheet. In some of them the dark blue ink had slightly blurred marks all over the place. The master of fear smiled happily. Presumably his hand was already completely smeared or at least resembling an ink pad. The former psychiatrist let the remaining healthy eye wander over the note. He had begun writing down his impressions of the world around him since his release from the Arkham Asylum. This particularly helped with his persistent aftermath of the fear toxin, and often calmed the unstoppable merry-go-round in his head. The lean man tapped the paper in front of him a few times with the lead of the pen, absently sketching a few blue question marks on the marked margin on the side. He hummed softly into the gloomy atmosphere of the study. Contrary to his habit of making the environment livelier with some music, the brown-haired man preferred to stay in absolute silence that evening. Well, that was a lie in itself. As if to confirm, a loud croak suddenly sounded from a corner of the room. Jonathan looked up with a smile and raised his right arm meaningfully. He said calmly: "You are welcome to come to me, Nimmermehr."

The black raven flapped its wings a few times before elegantly soaring into the air. The bird made a long lap over its holder, but then carefully sat down on the thin arm below him. The former psychiatrist rubbed his forefinger gently under the animal's dark beak and with his other hand fished for a few grains from a slightly broken glass bowl. The cracks were slowly growing since last year. He offered Nimmermehr the seeds, wandered leisurely with his fingertips into the soft plumage on the raven's neck. He happily pecked the seed and gobbled it down greedily, then croaked softly, as if to express his gratitude in words. The lean man rose from his desk and strolled cautiously through the room, always careful not to startle his companion with a thoughtless movement. The animal loved it when he walked a few steps with him. Out of nowhere the graceful bird pressed its beak to the side of the brown-haired man's neck and caressed the cool skin with gentle, circular movements. Jonathan laughed cautiously, finally mumbled softly: "At least you no longer have the nasty habit of pecking my skin bloody, do you? It was quite a struggle to get rid of this behavior, my old friend.” Nimmermehr blinked a few times, then rattled his beak excitedly. The black eyes literally locked on him, staring into the depths of a once-established soul. The former psychiatrist slowly stepped up to the perch and moved his arm to a comfortable position to make it easier for the bird to step back onto the wood. He watched the animal deftly descend his hand. The raven suddenly tilted its head slightly to one side and almost lovingly touched the partially torn fingers of its holder with a claw. This gesture was followed by a soft croak. The Master of Fear stroked his completely disfigured chin and breathed cautiously: “You really don't have to worry about me, Nimmermehr. I'm fine. At least better than a few months ago. After all this time and issues we cannot expect miracles."

These words were a very wild mixture of merciless truth and bold lies. As if the bird had understood the essence of the statement, he pecked the back of the thin man's hand with light force. An unpleasant pinch made Jonathan shook a little bit. He made an abstruse grimace and replied almost angrily: "I must have praised you too early, but I can't really blame you for hurting me. We both know well enough how much authenticity there is behind such comments of me and to remind me not to deceive myself makes you such a valuable friend.” To his amazement, the raven barely nodded noticeably. The former psychiatrist put a few more seeds in the bowl on the bar and crossed his arms over his chest. He could feel a slight breeze in his teeth. Since the horrible incident with Killer Croc, some parts of skin on his face were no longer completely closed and deep cracks in the tissue revealed an impressive view of the white teeth. However, this wasn't necessarily the worst leftover from the fateful night. In particular, an initially relatively small injury over the right lower jaw bothered him a lot of trouble and especially discomfort. This wound occasionally caused fluid to flow out of the mouth again if he did not use the correct technique for drinking and he did not even want to start to talk about the constant flow of saliva during sleep. It was a terrible mess. Jonathan hesitantly stepped in front of the mirror in his study, stared at the shattered hull of its exterior. What was actually left of him? As so often, his breath stuck in his lungs. He was now referred to as a living monster, although he himself had long questioned the meaning of the word alive.

The brown-haired man had felt dead for months. Dead. Empty. Eviscerated. A soul trapped in a rotting body. The Master of Fear looked into his ruined face and led his right hand slowly to his heart. He fiddled with the zipper of the black coat, then slipped his fingers under the dark fabric after opening it. His eyelids closed instantly. A few seconds passed before he suddenly felt it again, more clearly than ever before. The even beating of the most important organ in his battered body. An unmistakable sign that he was still alive and not a walking corpse, even if people around him tried to remind him of this again and again. The gaunt man slowly opened his blind eye. The blackness greeted him, but that in itself didn't matter at the moment. He knew that this gray opal probably saw more as all of the world's optic nerves together. Jonathan took a few deep breaths and pressed his hand tighter to his heart, digging his fingernails lightly into the cold skin. What this eyeball observed was the icy reality, which a normal person is very reluctant to face. It was just a fact: the 'nightmare' of his own present existence had nothing to do with a very bad dream. He would not wake up from a sweaty night and everything would be fine again. No. This had been his real life for four long years. His sometimes bleak existence. The brown-haired man opened the other eye again and examined the damage the Crocodile had left on his body. The Master of Fear sighed calmly. There was actually no point in thinking about it any further, constantly reminding himself of what the situation had been like before the incident. He would no longer be able to restore this. Jonathan looked deep into the healthy, icy blue opal. He had forgotten a lot in the past few months. Above all his own humanity.

After a while, the former psychiatrist turned away from the mirror in pure disgust and wandered aimlessly through the old Victorian mansion. His left leg was still limping behind. He dragged through the oppressive hallway on the first floor and passed the railing, which led down to the entrance hall through two impressive wooden stairs. The Master of Fear dared a short look down, but decided to not wander downstairs right now. He had a different goal. He walked cautiously past the still-draped furniture, the dust had been gathering on the fabric for ages. The brown-haired man came to a stop at a double door and pressed the handle almost silently. He slowly peeked in, then put on a small smile. Edward was sitting at his square work table, which stood in the middle of the improvised workshop, feverishly tweaking a probably broken device. Occasionally the inventor would talk to himself or wipe the sweat from his forehead. To Jonathan's surprise, he was only wearing a dark gray undershirt and completely filthy beige work trousers. The tinkerer had even left off the welding goggles that evening. This was unusual. The Riddler usually kept up the compulsive routine of consistently pulling through his very stubborn clothing style and nothing could convince him to do without the green shirt with the question marks at least once. The younger one would probably deny it vehemently, but his slow, mental decline since the night in the institution had also affected his appearance.

Gone were the days when Edward presented himself as a handsome man of fashion. The former psychiatrist was breathing a little faster than before when he saw the man in the workshop. Even if he often couldn't hear his heart beating, it was clearly noticeable in the presence of the black-haired man. For a long time it had been incomprehensible to the thin man why the other continued to be interested in him and, despite his terrifying appearance, did not leave his side. They had been more than partners in crime before the Waylon incident. Of course, in the greatest of secrecy. When Edward finally fished him out of the Gotham River at dawn and provided him with makeshift supplies, the younger man decided to take a step with serious consequences for them. To ensure his survival, the Riddler had to overcome his pride and had actually asked Victor Fries for help. He - the great, one-off, perfect Edward Nygma. This hitherto unique act spread like wildfire in the Gotham underground and sparked a wave of wild speculation, why the inventor took such care of his friend. Several weeks passed before the bomb finally burst. Fortunately, the other criminals were well disposed to them and besides one or the other teasing comment, neither of them had ever regretted the openness to the other rogues. Still, the uncertainty had lingered for a long time, why the younger ignored all the hideous details on his partner's body. They’d had countless conversations on long, sleepless nights. Jonathan blinked a little. He watched the fine outlines of the face of the black-haired man, studied every slight movement in the muscles of the upper jaw. Basically, Edward was the most important part in his clockwork. The gear that kept it running and had repeatedly proven that it worked flawlessly. The former psychiatrist entered the workshop with quiet steps. The Riddler had explained it to him several times and yet there was a voice inside him that told him that this man is a liar.

But he wasn't. The inventor was sincere and every further day at his side showed impressively that he was not ready to give up on the brown-haired man. The thin man felt the pulse quickening in his veins. It had taken so infinitely long to understand that the younger one simply loved him from the bottom of his heart - no matter how distorted his shell might look. Inwardly, he had never changed for the worse for the man. On the contrary, actually. Edward wanted him even more every passing day. A short pain spread in his stomach and made him stop for a moment. The tinkerer had no reason to trick him. He was here because he wanted to be here. Jonathan listened to his partner's soft cursing voice for a moment. This was a unique finding. He finally stepped behind the black-haired man and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, pulling him gently to his bony chest. Edward startled slightly and muttered, obviously confused by the action: "Are you all right, John? You still have a hell a lot of fun frightening me or at least startling me occasionally, don't you?" The man behind him chuckled softly, barely audibly replied: “I'm afraid you may be right about that, Edward." Before the other could reply, the older put the torn lips on the neck of the inventor. Edward sucked in the air sharply and clenched his teeth tightly, trembling in rising excitement. Jonathan moved the leathery skin on the soft tissue of his partner. The Riddler relaxed more and more and slowly ran his hand into the thin man's straw hair. No more words were needed.

The former psychiatrist took the black-haired man's hand tenderly and led him to the adjoining bedroom, carefully guiding him by the hip towards the bed. Edward stumbled backwards, after a while touching the bed frame with his calves. A slight nudge dropped him onto the soft mattress. Without losing any more time, the Master of Fear slipped over his partner and sealed the lips in an unusually passionate kiss. The inventor groaned muffled, his fingers clawed into the brown hair. A veil of deepest desire fell over the two men. An expression of the deepest connection and probably the most sincere love they have ever felt for another person in their life. The clothes quickly found their way down to the cold floor. Jonathan bit gently into the tinkerer's neck, feeling with admiration how the younger man pressed his back and came willingly towards him. Their hands wandered over the heated skin without aim, found no rest until the last centimeter was explored. Edward huffed heavily as he met the older man's eyes. Both nodded almost in sync. The Riddler turned and positioned himself on all fours, looking embarrassed over his shoulder at his partner. Jonathan had already let lubricant flow from the often used tube onto his member and spread it generously on the sensitive shaft. The black-haired man groaned throatily, finally resting his cheek on the bed, ready and waiting. The former psychiatrist wasted no words at that moment and slowly penetrated his lover with the greatest caution he could manage. Edward tensed up for a moment, but relaxed again nearly immediately. By now they were practiced. The brown-haired man began a slow, tender rhythm, sliding his thin fingers over the younger man's back in the process.

Edward let himself go completely and enjoyed the even, intense stimulation. They moved in unison, almost as if they were literally merged at that moment. At least that was how it felt. Jonathan listened to the melodious sounds of his partner, sank into the unique beauty of this point in time. The black-haired man had meanwhile put his hand around his own penis and rubbed the stiff flesh with adapted movements to his partner thrusts. Suddenly the older one took hold of the Riddler’s torso and, with a little help from the other, pulled him up to his bony chest. His hand slid unhurriedly over the tinkerer's belly, over his abdomen and finally wrapped around the still moving hand of the inventor. Edward blushed instantly. Jonathan moved his hips smoothly on the younger man's, held him tight with one arm and guided the stimulation on his member with his fingers. The black-haired man gasped breathlessly, tilted his head back. The former psychiatrist used this space to sink his teeth into his lover's throat and continue to taste the skin with his tongue. "John ...", the Riddler stuttered completely lost in his lust, "I can't hold anymo ..." The older one kissed his ear and whispered into it: "You don't have to hold anything back, Edward." Those words were enough. The black-haired man tensed up not a second later, screamed his orgasm uninhibited in the air and a small gush of sperm spilled onto the black bedspread.  
Jonathan could never get enough of this sight. The fact that the tinkerer also pulsed around his shaft repeatedly brought him over the edge. However, the climax was not, as usual, of a very animal like nature. None of them were able to really explain it. The lean man pressed the other to him as tightly as he could and began to twitch, burying himself as deeply as he could in his lover abdomen. The sweat ran from their exhausted bodies, slowly cooled in the dense night air. Edward looked over his shoulder at the brown haired man and smiled weakly. The Master of Fear overcame the small distance between their lips, sealing an unspoken promise between them. The promise they would never leave each other.


End file.
